


Memento Mori

by visper



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, but who cares, when i wrote this i hadnt actually watched catws so its kinda off, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:53:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visper/pseuds/visper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happened too late. It all happened too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memento Mori

Steve could feel the wounds where the Winter Soldier's bullets had punctured through his suit, and he didn't have to look to know that blood was pouring from three holes in his chest. Hollow Points. He remembered reading in the file that they were that man's choice of weapon, but only now did he acknowledge the reason why. He could feel the sharp splinters working their way underneath his skin and wondered dimly when the pain would be too much.

Slumping back heavily onto the concrete wall behind him, he tried to breathe in deeply, hitching at the extra stabs of pain slicing through his lungs. Maybe not then. In a normal situation he knew Tony would make some joke about The Great Captain America dying in some dingy parking lot and he would laugh along, but right now the truth was not so humorous. Especially as his vision was starting to get so foggy that he could barely make out the figure of what used to be Bucky making his way towards his resting place. He knew he wasn't him anymore. He gave up on that the moment he fired those shots at him; even when Steve lowered his shield to try to reason with him one last time.

That's what he told himself. That there was no Bucky left inside his enemy. It made it easier. Although it did not stop the tears from welling in his eyes; they had nothing to do with the pain - the physical kind at least - and they did no help to his blurred eyes, although he felt that maybe it was best. He did not want the last thing he saw to be that face he knew so well masked with a cold, blank expression.

In the past he had imagined so many scenarios of this meeting, each one more far-fetched and painful than the last. But in every one the constant was that he looked as long as he could, filling the chasm in his chest that was opened that day so many decades ago. And the sad thing was that he wanted to do just that. Still. He wanted to drink in the sight of Bucky, to re-memorise the lines and shadows, perhaps more defined than before, but ever the same, and he wanted to walk towards him and touch him even as he was stabbed in the back by one of those sharp little knives. And even now, as his life's blood drained from him, the pain was dwarfed by the ever-present hole that Bucky punched through. He would have laughed if he could. About the irony of the thing that killed him 70 years ago being back and ready to finish what it started. He would have breathed. _If he could._  

 

The Winter Soldier approached his target, watching the precise moment when their eyes glazed over; tense muscles slumping and head lolling down to their shoulder. Three accurate shots into the middle of his chest oozed blood even through the thick of his dark uniform. He would ask why he had dropped his guard in the middle of the fight, but this man had been calling him a strange name ever since he saw his face. Bucky. It struck no chord. But yet-

A blindingly hot needle pierced the side of his head and he almost gasped as he fell to his knees, the memory of falling and this man, his target, Captain America - _Steve_  - calling a name out with such anguish that it echoed down the snowy ravine before being swallowed by the rattling of the train they had been on. A name. "Bucky".

He dropped the pistol with the safety still off, but if there was a gun shot he did not hear it through the pounding of blood in his ears, while the man in front of him hazed between achingly familiar and a total stranger. He was on his elbows now, close enough to Captain America- Steve, _Steve_ \- that he could touch him, and he thoughtlessly grabbed his leg, clinging on as memories broke through his barriers wracking him with sobs that he did not even notice until he felt the wet tears prickling down his arm.

He did not want to believe that he had had a friend; all those times this man had called to him, willing him to answer, and yet now when he finally realised it he was gone. By Bucky's own hand, no less. Bucky, who had saved a scrawny boy from bullies, had stuck by him when all else failed- and yet here he was crouching over his own handiwork. The ultimate betrayal. He didn't even twitch when he caught the movement a sniper watching him from a few buildings away. Let them come, he thought. I have done everything that could possibly hurt me. Nothing they could do would come close to this. Death would be an escape. The empty feeling felt so… familiar, and yet his skin was on fire, burning around the hollow ache in his chest. It made him choke, unable to breathe in a fool's mockery of Steve's gasping battle only moments before.

His right arm buckled and he slumped down on his side, not caring now of the heaving sobs that shook his body. Who cared who saw him; they could think him pathetic and weak, could slander his name in any way they wanted. He didn't care anymore. That name - The Winter Soldier - was not his. It was Hydra's, and he would be damned if he was going to live with that. And the other name. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. That belonged solely to Steve.

And now he was no more than a shell. Steve - even if he had not noticed it at the time - had been his whole life and without him he was nothing. Nothing. And yet, he could not let himself go unpunished. Death would be an escape, yes, but would he let himself get off so easily? He let the sounds of SHIELD soldiers swarming around them wash over them, allowed himself to be led away roughly, away from their precious Captain America and his own precious Steve. He hoped they would do their worst.

He hoped by the time he saw Steve again he would feel worthy of him, of his vitality, his pure energy. He knew he never would - he was far too broken for that - but maybe he would not flinch in his presence. In the end that was all he could hope for.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so I'm crying
> 
> I realised that maybe I should have done Bucky's POV in present tense? maybe? idk too late now
> 
> also note: british spelling
> 
> also: I fucking hate summarys


End file.
